


Cookies

by SilverCowGirl



Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith, Strike (TV 2017)
Genre: F/M, Food, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-14 22:35:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28553223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverCowGirl/pseuds/SilverCowGirl
Summary: Robin surprises Cormoran with some homemade cookies.
Relationships: Robin Ellacott/Cormoran Strike
Comments: 9
Kudos: 32





	Cookies

**Author's Note:**

> This is total fluff – inspired by a couple of things. My mom used to bake cookies and pies and deliver them to others… the guys who changed her tires, the cleaner at the laundromat, teachers, etc., simply because she loved to bake. Also, I once went to school with a boy, with 8 older brothers, who would not take his new pants off because it was the first new ones he’d ever had of his own. Together those ideas melded into this short episode.

Robin was in a chipper mood recently, feeling lighter than usual. Everything with the agency was sailing along splendidly, she and Cormoran were doing “that talking thing” more often, and there had been no disruptive waves in personal lives of the agency family. The previous night she’d had extra time on her hands and an urge to bake something. She walked down to the local convenience mart to gather a couple necessary ingredients and when she arrived back to the flat, she set to work.

The next morning she rose early as she’d set her alarm to give herself an extra half-hour to get ready. She started the oven to preheating as she fixed her cuppa, then was back down stairs to take a quick shower before dressing in what was her usual jeans, sweater, and trainers. Back upstairs, she walked to the refrigerator and removed a large glass measuring bowl filled with chocolate chip cookie dough. She hummed as she remembered her mum teaching her to chill the dough making for fluffier cookies. She pulled a large cookie sheet out of the lower cabinet, along with a Sil-pat. She stepped sideways and nabbed a silver scoop with black handle out of a drawer on her right. She quickly set about scooping and depositing cookies on the pan, while glancing at the oven temperature to make sure it was adjusted adequately. 

As she neatly slid the pan into the hot oven, she was glad she’d thought to put her hands in the new silicon baking mitts Max had showed her last week. Taking them off and laying them on the counter at the ready, she rose on tiptoes as she stretched to look in the top cupboards, searching for just the right thing. There! She spied a basket of adequate size to hold a few dozen cookies. Pulling open yet another drawer, she found a pristine white tea towel and placed it in the basket. She just had time to take another couple sips of tea when the oven buzzer alerted her. Peaking in, she grinned delightedly to see she had not lost her knack for cookie-making. She let the cookies sit for the length of time it took her to locate a cooling rack and small metal spatula, then scooped them quickly on to cool. With economy of movement, she again filled the baking sheet and slid them into the oven, setting the timer. With a “rinse and repeat” attitude, she soon had four dozen tantalizing cookies nestled in the basket and covered with a cloth. Picking up her scarf, wrapping it around quickly, she donned her jack and slung her cross-body purse strap over her head. With a self-satisfied smile, she headed downstairs to hop in the Land Rover. 

Just ten minutes later, she’d found a lucky parking spot close to their agency. She maneuvered into it efficiently and exited the vehicle. With a definite spring in her step, she opened the familiar door on Denmark Street, then literally ran up the steps, pausing only as she opened the door, which now read “Strike and Ellacott Agency.” 

“Hiya,” she lilted as she entered. 

The familiar deep voice from the inner office, returned, “G’mornin,” and she once again grinned. After setting the basket of cookies on her desk, she quickly pulled her bag, scarf, and jacket off, hanging them on the coatrack just inside the entryway. Only then did she notice that Cormoran must’ve put the kettle on when he came in. She efficiently moved to fix them both tea, taking care to make her partner’s just the way he liked it best. Placing both mugs and the basket of cookies on a tray, she proceeded into the inner office. 

“Mmmm….what’s this?” asked Cormoran with his eyebrows raised. 

“They’re for you,” Robin’s Yorkshire accent gave the impression she was nearly flirting.

Cormoran pulled a long breath in through his nose, then carefully pulled back the cloth covering the still-warm cookies. He seemed at a loss for words, gazing at them for several heartbeats. He pulled them closer, then finally eyed Robin with a piercing look, “They’re still warm,” he noted. 

“Yea, I made them for you. This morning,” she added. 

He continued to gaze at her until she began to feel wary, “If you don’t want them…”

“No!” he interrupted her, “They’re good.” She saw him give himself a slight shake and then he reached into the basket, coming out with a cookie in his big hand. 

She beamed at him as he took a first bite. She thought he was exaggerating when his eyes rolled up and he closed them. She could not keep her eyes off him as he slowly chewed the cookie, licked melted chocolate from his lips, then opened his eyes. “Best I’ve ever had,” he murmured in a low voice, giving Robin a telling look. 

Just then the outer door of the office opened with a bang, making them both jump. “Wha’s that I’m gettin’ a whif of, mates?” Barkley called from just outside the room. 

Robin raised her voice, “We’re in here, Sam.”

“Don’t tell me we’re havin’ cookies for our morning meeting ta dae?” he looked ready to rub his hands together and dig in.

“No! These are mine,” Strike hurried to set him straight and pulled the basket even closer. 

“What? You’ll not share?” Barkley looked incredulous.

Robin looked askance at Strike, too. 

Robin just said she made them for me,” Strike insisted. 

“But you bloody well could share, couldn’t you?” demanded Barkley, not giving up.

“NO! They’re **all** mine,” Strike, very uncharacteristically to Robin’s thinking, shot back.

Barkley turned and walked out of the room, shaking his head and grumbling under his breath.

Robin watched him leave then turned to Cormoran with a bit of question in her gaze.

“First time in m’life anyone ever made cookies for me and I’m not sharing them,” he gave up one more glimpse of his past to his best mate. 

Robin’s heart did a flip, then she smiled with great kindness and innately more than a little understanding, “There’s plenty of biscuits for the others out in the cabinet anyway. I’m glad you like the cookies I made for you.”

“Thanks, Robin,” he replied gratefully, picking up another chocolate chip cookie and taking a bite. 


End file.
